


He Cheers Me On

by Lady_Ganesh



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Forced Marriage, Homophobia, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, figure skating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2020-07-24 01:55:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20018341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Ganesh/pseuds/Lady_Ganesh
Summary: When high school junior Dickie Bittle gets caught kissing a classmate under the bleachers, his whole life changes. Forced to marry a professional athlete he's never even met, he might just find a happy ending after all.





	1. Better to Marry

"Now Di-- _Eric,"_ his mother said, looking more at her tablet screen than at Eric's face, "the matchmaker's done very well, and you should have nothing to complain about."

"I don't want to get married, Mama. If I could just--"

He might as well have been talking to a wall. "She's picked someone with a career, you wanted that. He's an athlete, like you were."

The _were_ was a slap in Eric's face.

The matchmaker's card had said _Better to marry than burn._ Who were they kidding? He could burn all they wanted, as long as it was out of sight.

"I won't love him," Eric said, knowing how petulant he sounded, and that no one would care. "I'll never--"

"Now, now," Suzanne said, her smile brittle as glass. "We both know that this is the best option for you. For our family. It happened to your Aunt Agnes when she got in trouble, and she's perfectly happy now."

She and Eric both knew 'perfectly happy' meant 'her husband only hits her when he's drunk.' _When I'm eighteen,_ he told himself, _I'll just run away like Caroline did._ Maybe he'd find out what happened to her.

"Mr. Mashkov is a fine young man," Mama said. "He's like you. You'll both be fine."

What a load of--garbage. Like Eric didn't know exactly what like _like you_ meant. Like he didn't know exactly what was going to happen when he got caught kissing Allen Castro behind the bleachers during Coach's championship game. Like he hadn't known the second he saw the look on his mama's face, the tight way Coach's voice had gotten.

 _We might have had more choice if Bradley hadn't caught you,_ Coach had said later, matter-of-factly. _But Dickie, you had to know it was always going to come to this. We'll find an athlete, if we can._

 _Someone handsome,_ Suzanne added.

Eric had wanted Allen Castro, and his family had sent him...off. Eric didn't know if Allen would come back, ever, or what he'd be like if he did. A shotgun wedding with Allen wouldn't have been that bad. Allen was pretty and he'd never liked sports, but he'd liked figure skating and he'd liked Bitty's ass, and that had been more than enough for Bitty.

Now he'd probably never see him again.

To add insult to injury, his Mama and aunts had planned the wedding, start to finish. Everything he'd dreamed of, the peach blossoms and the mini pies instead of a groom's cake, was rejected in favor of winter white so sterile they might as well have put tiny shotguns at each place setting.

Eric spent most of his time in his room, trying to figure out which 'reform school' they had sent Allen to and hating everything about his life.

His cousin Ralene, who had saved herself for marriage (or at least claimed to) and was now heavily pregnant with her first blessed child, stopped by sometimes and snuck him vodka out of her fake sunscreen bottle. "I'm not drinking, you might as well have it."

"You're the best cousin," he said.

She nodded, like she already knew. She'd always liked him, and she'd always known about him, in a way his parents had never allowed themselves to. She was good at playing the game, but that meant she was good at going outside the rules, and that meant she'd always been the perfect accomplice. Bitty had thought about asking her to try to sneak him away, but she was happy with Beau, and he didn't want to rock that boat any, especially not with a baby on the way. "So what's this guy like, anyway?"

"What guy?" Eric said, handing back the bottle.

"The one you're supposed to be marrying, honey."

"Oh." He shrugged. "He's a skater. Hockey player, though. That's what we have--" He added the air quotes. "'in common.'"

"Why's he marrying you?"

"Green card, I guess. He's Russian."

"Oooh, Russian. Is he big?"

"It doesn't matter! I don't want a big Russian! I just want--" Oh, now he was crying, and wasn't that just adding insult to injury? "I just wanted--"

"Oh, honey," she said, and pulled him to her chest, as best she could with the baby bump. "You were too good for him."

"I wasn't--" He sniffed.

"You were," she said. "You didn't run off to their dumb little fix-it camp. You weren't gonna sashay off to somewhere and marry some poor girl who thought you were straight. That's--that's a damn coward, Dickie Bittle, and I'm glad you aren't one." She patted his back. "Come on, is he handsome at least? There must be a picture somewhere."

"Probably," he said. "I haven't--"

"Oh, Lord, Dickie. You get in your own way sometimes. Come on, let's Google him. What's he play, regional league?"

Eric sniffed. "...NHL," he admitted.

"Damn! You're going to be a hockey wife?" She grabbed for Eric’s laptop over his shoulder. "Is there porn on this? I don't want to--"

"No, Raelene, there is not porn on my home laptop." Not any more; he hadn't dared look at anything online for months. He’d managed to hide a copy of the ESPN Body Issue under his mattress, but Mama had even found that a few weeks ago. “But what--”

"Well, I'm looking him up. Big Russian guy. Alex--was it Mashov?"

"Alexei Mashkov. They call him Tater in the league."

"Mashed taters, now that's cute." She opened up his laptop. There wasn't a password lock; no need to bother, these days. If she saw the tab for _It's My Wedding, Too_ she was gracious enough to ignore it. "Oooh," she said. "He _is_ big."

"I don't care about that," Eric said. "They're takin’ everything away from me. Everything." He blinked at the tears. "Did you see the place settings? They won’t even give me that.” He waved his hand. "I could marry some poor girl I'd make miserable for the rest of her life, and they'd be happy. I just don't understand how...I always knew they didn't see me. But I didn't realize how much they didn't want to, I guess."

She put the laptop down and wrapped her arms around him again, gave him a little time to pull himself together.

"Come on," she said. "He doesn't seem like that bad a guy. There's one of those silly videos they do, you can at least see his face."

"Maybe later," he said, and she let it go.

Instead, they talked a little while about the baby, and how excited Raelene was getting, and Raelene promised him that no matter what, even if he did up and run away when he turned eighteen, her little one would grow up knowing who Cousin Dickie was. "That means a lot, Raelene," he said.

"You'll always be family, Dickie," she said. "And I'm proud you're my cousin. And you'll make me even prouder someday. I know it."

Mashkov was good-looking enough, dark hair, bright eyes, quick to smile. As Raelene had noted, he was big, well over six feet and broad besides. Eric knew Mashkov had to be gay, or at least bi, but something about him mad Eric think pure straight asshole jock. He reminded Eric of high school guys who smiled and played nice around the parents and called you a fag when you were alone in the locker room.

"Is good to meet you," he said, holding out his hand. At least he didn't shake like he was trying to intimidate Eric or had anything to prove.

Why would he act like he had something to prove? He was the size of a pony and played for the NHL. Eric was tiny, and Mashkov probably didn't think of him as an athlete, just one of the girly, arty types guys like Mashkov didn't have to bother with. Just a smiling face and the chance at a green card. _At least someone's getting something out of this._

The wedding was a miserable blur. Mashkov didn't catch his eye, and they were a foot across from each other for the whole dang ceremony. No one asked him to kiss the groom, not that he’d wanted to. And the scripture readings... _But if they cannot contain, let them marry: for it is better to marry than to burn._

When they touched hands at the end of the ceremony, it felt like two dolls putting their little plastic palms together. Cold.

The reception wasn't much better. No one danced, no one drank. Mostly everyone kept themselves to themselves, though a few of the hockey wives made their way over to Eric's family. There wasn't much for presents, and as far as Eric could tell they'd mostly come from the Mashkov side of things. There was one elaborately-wrapped package from his parents he was fairly certain was a Bible.

"Eric?" Mashkov said. "Maybe we could talk now, yes?"

"Yeah," he said. "Sure." He sure was tall. He'd be able to pick Eric up and put him into a trash can for a laugh. 

"Little--it is called a patio, yes?"

He nodded. What would they even have to talk about with each other? Maybe it was just going to be a list of conditions, orders to stay at Mashkov's apartment and cook and clean. _At least then I might be able to bake, I guess._

The patio had been crowded with smokers off and on, but now there was just Uncle Sean, who'd never liked Eric much anyway, and couldn't be bothered to nod at him as they slid the glass door behind them. "We will sit?" Mashkov suggested, and Eric pulled out one of the lacy metal chairs and sat. He waited for Mashkov to talk. What else was he going to do?

"They told me you did not want to meet, so I looked on computer," he said. "Hope that is all right. You like to cook?"

Eric’s brain didn’t catch up right away. "Bake, mostly, but--they said I didn't want to meet you?"

"Oh," he said, and his face changed. "I am sorry. I thought--"

"No, no, it's all right. I'm--glad you asked, I just didn't know." His family would've gone to any lengths to make sure he wasn't happy, then. That sounded about right. Mashkov had wanted to get to know him, though. That was a little bit better than what he’d feared. "What--what else did you know?"

"You are from Georgia, you like Beyonce. You skated."

Oh, Lord, of course he'd find that open wound when he went to Google. "I did," he said. He still had a nasty ache in his feet when he'd pushed himself too hard, old wounds reminding him of what he'd once been able to do. His old skates were ready to fall apart, and his parents certainly wouldn’t pay for another good pair. He was probably ten pounds over competition weight now, and he’d barely had any ice time since he switched schools.

He still missed it, damn it.

"You stopped," Mashkov said. "Why?"

That wasn't exactly the question Eric had anticipated. He scrolled through a few answers before finally settling on: "Why do you ask, Mr. Mashkov?"

"My mother, she is Irina Mashkova. You know her?"

"Of course," Eric said. Lord, they didn't look anything alike; Irina Mashkova had been a tiny little ballerina on the ice, perfect and graceful, and was now a tiny little coach, sharp and tough and legendary. "I'm sorry, I didn't make the connection."

"She is good coach. She asked, 'why does Eric Bittle not skate? Had good potential.'"

"'Had,'" Bitty noted, not bothering to fight the bitterness.

"You have not been out so long. But if you were hurt, if you do not--"

"We moved," he said. "I lost my home rink, my coach. There wasn’t--"

"She would coach you," Mashkov said.

That--

Eric tried to wrap his head around it. "I don't understand."

"You are husband, yes? Will be family. We will be in Providence, you can have ice time. Mama says you have potential. If you want, if you will work very hard, she will coach you. She is not always...nice? Yes. Not always nice. But she is honest. She would not offer if she did not think you could skate."

When they'd taken skating away from him, that was when everything had started going wrong. When he'd stopped being his Mama's Dickie and started calling himself Eric. He'd still practiced--the ice was part of him--but he'd had to fight for what little time he had, and there was no coaching, no support. The only way he could've kept skating full-time was to switch to hockey, and the league was full contact. Maybe his parents hadn't realized that tiny Dickie Bittle was never going to fit into a team of Georgia jocks, but the jocks sure knew. He'd been in enough lockers to last himself a lifetime, thank you very much.

But maybe--

He could skate again. Providence was far enough in the northeast that he might be able to make it out of regionals, even if he was married to Alexei Mashkov. And it would be a chance.

"I don't know what to say," he said.

Mashkov, clearly unaware of the churning in Eric's gut, reached out and patted the back of his hand, like Eric was a puppy or a small child. Lord, his hand was huge. "You do not have to decide right away. We just met. You might not like Mama, even if you want to come back. She would want to talk to you, see how you want to work, what you would want to skate."

She was a good coach, with a good record. She'd coached medal winners. "But she don't mind--it's okay? That I'm--"

"She has always loved me," Mashkov said. "No matter what. She would like me to come back home someday but--" He shook his head. "Was too late. Maybe it will change, someday."

He didn't want to care about this man. He didn't. "What about your daddy?"

"He was hockey player, like me. Played for local league. Was almost KHL, but got hurt. He put on suit and tie, went to work for managers. Had heart attack, two years ago. He did not always understand. But he was kind."

"I'm glad for you," Eric said, though it stuck in his throat a little.

"I thought--I did not realize. How it is with your parents. I am sorry."

"'Better to marry than burn.'" It felt bitter, painful. 

"Is better in Providence," Alexei said. "People will still say bad things. But not so many."

None of this was what Eric had thought would happen. He'd been ready to fight, or at least dish out the silent treatment. "You really want me to skate?"

"Only if you want," he said.

"I just--" He stood up. "Can I just--could you give me a moment? I--it’s a lot, Mr. Mashkov, and that’s the truth."

Mashkov nodded, and got up. He towered over Eric. "I will wait," he said. "When you want to talk again, yes?"

Eric nodded. He didn’t watch Mashkov go.

Skating again. He'd missed it so much. He'd had his programs half-planned out when they'd moved. He'd had dreams. Maybe he couldn't have his wedding, or his freedom, but he could have the ice again. Traveling for competitions would mean less time stuck at home playing househusband, too. 

There had to be a catch. If there was one thing he'd learned over the past year and a half, it was that there was always a catch. But Lord, what he wouldn't give to skate again. And maybe he could get away, in Canada or Europe, if he made it that far. Maybe--

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Mama, probably wondering why he wasn’t back at the reception with a fake smile plastered on. He ignored it. He wasn't ready to face her, not right now. But it reminded him of what Coach had said, when they'd moved. _I'm sorry, I know skating meant a lot to you. But maybe if you aren't skating things will go a little easier._

 _They sure hadn't,_ Eric thought angrily to himself. _They damn well hadn't._

He went back in, feeling like a robot still, but a robot who had a bright, beating heart hidden inside. He kept telling himself not to hope, that there wasn't any point in it, but--

Alexei Mashkov had wanted to meet him, to talk to him.

Alexei Mashkov wanted him to _skate._

He felt better than he had in a long, long while.


	2. Chivalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric meets Coach Mashkova and goes to family skate.

Alexei's mother moved like a dancer, deliberate, graceful. She wore tiny wire-rimmed glasses that only made her bright amber eyes look bigger. She was much smaller than Alexei, but he could see a resemblance in her smile, especially around the jawline. She shook his hand deliberately and formally, as if they hadn't already met at the wedding. Though, of course, they really hadn't; she had probably thought, as Alexei had, that Eric didn't want to talk to her. 

"I'm very grateful for this opportunity, Coach Mashkova."

No 'oh, don't be so formal, call me Irina' for her. "You will have to earn this," she said. "I know it has been a while since you've been on the ice, but have you continued your conditioning?"

He nodded. "When I could.”

"I need to warn you that I am traditional," she said. "I have seen your routines. You have potential, but you have not been challenged enough. And you are very--" She gestured. "Broadway."

_Camp,_ Eric thought. "I'm never gonna be a classical dancer, Mrs. Mashkova."

"No," she said. "But your technique can improve. If you are to win, your elements have to be flawless. There is no room for error, with what has happened to you. Everyone will be thinking of your story. You will have to grab their attention as a dancer and prove yourself with your skills. You will have to work harder, much harder than you have before. There is a magnet high school here, I have already spoken with them. You will have to audition, but your chances are good. Whether or not you are accepted there, you will have to dance. Like it is a job."

Eric nodded.

"If you do not want to do this," she said. "I will understand. Aloysha will understand. Coming back is not easy for anyone. It will be much harder for you."

"I want to try," he said. "If I can't cut it, then I'll thank you for giving me a chance. I won't waste your time."

She smiled a little at that. "You will not," she said. 

Coach Mashkova had three students in Juniors, a pretty Women's skater named Isabelle Chau, and two Men’s skaters, Jacob Wen and now Eric. She also had an encyclopedic memory, a mind-bending work ethic, and zero mercy. She was almost as tall as Alexei, and as brittle and sharp as glass. But she also had flashes of Alexei's good nature, and she knew exactly where Eric needed to improve. She sent him to a dance instructor who all but measured his arm position with one of those little acrylic triangles he used to use in math class, and after a month of that, she packed him off for his audition.

It felt good to dance again, to have a real studio, not just wiggle his ass to Bey or Gaga in the secrecy of his bedroom. It felt good to be talking through music and choreography, even when Coach told him he'd have to go traditional and classical for his routines or he wouldn't have a chance. "What about my exhibition?"

"We will consider," she said. "But prove yourself first."

"Yes, Coach," he said. But he kept a Spotify playlist just in case.

Living with Alexei, the thing he'd feared most, turned out to be easy. Alexei was big and kind of a bro, but also funny and laid back. He didn't turn up his nose at dance class or Beyonce. He told Eric he could decorate his room however he wanted to with whatever he wanted to ("though frames would be nice, make it look classier, yes?"), and helped find studs to put up the posters when they came. 

Neither of them were bad cooks, and they'd soon realized that Russians liked pickles just as much as Southerners did, even if the details were different. Alexei said his father had done most of the cooking; Coach Mashkova had always been the busier of the two of them, at least as long as Alexei had been alive. "My sister, she said when she was little, everyone ate Mama's meal plans, and Papa would get food at the rink, after practice. Or bring things home. But he liked to cook. Mama--it is more something necessary for her."

One night they worked together, making tacos with pickled vegetables and two kinds of meat (one for Eric's meal plan, one for Alexei's), and Alexei bumped him cheerfully with his hip as they worked. "We should have friends over, dazzle them with our skills. Marty and Gabby would come, for sure, probably Zimmboni too. Mama says you are getting along okay at rink? You could have someone over, too."

Sometimes Eric found himself wondering what it would be like to have Alexei as a real friend, a boyfriend. He was starting to think that was what Alexei wanted, or at least what he thought he wanted. Sometimes he caught himself thinking that he was being unfair, that Alexei would have a happier home, a happier life, if he'd picked someone else, someone who would have been thrilled to be the husband of a big NHL star. Maybe someone who knew more Russian than the handful of words Eric had picked up through skating.

But maybe they wouldn't have made pies or liked pickles. Maybe they wouldn't have known how to get Alexei to smile so bright at the end of the day.

The next day, when they were both home from practice, Alexei asked, "Would you like to come to family skate Sunday, meet rest of the team? I know we are big dumb hockey players, but can be fun. Little kids, wives, girlfriends. Not so serious."

"And they're all right with you--"

"Have asked to meet you," he said. "And you met some at wedding. They all liked you.”

Alexei would probably take 'no' for an answer this time, but he might not forever. Maybe it would be better to get it over with sooner, rather than later. "I'll make some pies," he said.

"Do not have to make pies--"

"No, I should," he said, rubbing his hands together in thought. "Mama always taught me not to come to a party empty-handed. And you said there were kids, right?"

"Usually."

"Sunday?" That was the day after tomorrow.

He nodded.

"Let's see what I've got on hand, then."

At least in the kitchen he could focus. Measure, roll, bake. Alexei had a nice big oven that could hold three pies at a time. He got out the cooling racks.

"Anything I can do?" Alexei asked, poking his head in.

"Maybe run and get me some more flour? I think I've got enough for this batch, but--"

"Of course," he said. "I will put laundry in dryer. You make list, if there's anything else."

"Thanks."

In the end, he sent Alexei off for more butter and sugar, too, and darned if it wasn't nice to have another set of hands. Mama hadn't cooked with him since--

Since Allen Castro.

The tears came bright and hot for a moment, and he had to stop halfway through chopping the apples. He'd pulled himself back together by the time Alexei came back with the groceries, humming a country song, cheerful and bright. "Eric," he said. "There were fresh figs at market! Not on list, but I thought we could make something nice with them. I thought maybe sauce, with pork?"

The biggest problem with Alexei Mashkov, Eric thought, and not for the first time, was how gosh-darn nice he was. He was impossible to hate, hard even to get angry with, even when Eric was resentful and itching for a fight. "That sounds mighty nice," he said. "We've got that tenderloin in the fridge."

"All right if I start?"

"Sure, hon. It's your kitchen."

"Your kitchen, too, B," he said, and slid behind him to the fridge.

Eric hadn’t heard that nickname before. "B?"

"I--" Alexei caught himself. "I did not--"

"It's all right," he said. "What, for Bittle?"

"Yes," he said. "And that--Senor Bun, you call him? I think of little bunnies. B." His face colored a little. "You are--I am sorry. I do not want to--"

"No," he said. "You can call me that. It's fine. It's sweet. I know it's a little silly, bringin' Senor Bun with me, but--I wanted things to feel a little familiar, I guess."

"You could have brought anything you wanted to," he said. "Want this to be home. Want you to feel safe."

"You're sweet, Alexei Mashkov. You get started on dinner, it'll give me more time for pie, huh? I get most of the filling done now, tomorrow I can just do the crust and get ‘em right in the oven."

"You do not need to feed whole team."

"Well, people are gonna get their feelings hurt if there's not enough," he said. "And--I want them to like me, Alexei. We're together for two years. If they don't like me--"

"Will be fine," Alexei said, clapping his hand on Eric's shoulder again, keeping his hand on a little longer than he normally did. "You are easy to like, Eric Bittle. I like you very much, yes?"

"They like you," he said. "They're probably worried. Maybe they'll think I'm a bad influence."

He laughed. "I get into trouble on my own, no worry. They probably hope you will keep me at home more often."

"You're not here enough now to get into trouble," Eric said. "I didn't realize you traveled so much as a hockey player..."

"Is a lot. Have done it most of my life, though, so--" He shrugged. "Easier for skaters, home rink. But I am no figure skater." He grabbed some garlic out of the basket and a cutting board. "Where am I out of way?" At home, Alexei was the kind of big man who tried not to be too big; always checking to make sure people had space, making himself smaller.

"You're fine right there, hon." Maybe it was better they weren't together that often, because Eric thought about touching Alexei a lot more often lately. Right now, he could just picture putting his fingertips on Alexei's waist as he moved past him to the sink. "It's nice to not be alone in the kitchen."

"Everyone tells me when I came to Providence, 'get big apartment, rent is so cheap here,' but this place is too big sometimes. Neighbors are not so friendly in this building. Do not want you to be too lonely here."

"I'm fine," Eric said. "After all that happened, I wanted a little quiet, I guess."

"Will not want it to be quiet all the time. You should go out, meet people. I have Falcs, but you need friends, yes?"

"I guess I do," he said.

Alexei loomed over his shoulder to investigate the pie. "Very nice. Should thank you again for quiche yesterday."

He'd thought about staying up, but he'd just left a note and the quiche in the fridge instead. "I think even Nate might have approved of that one."

Alexei flashed him a grin, knockout bright. "I not tell him, just in case."

"Does he come to family skate?"

"Not usually. Don't worry, if he does I protect you."

He'd seen Alexei do it on the court, putting his body in between the winger or center to just stop whoever might try to be in the way. He would've been a knight or something back in history, or maybe a bodyguard. Tough and handsome, but using his strength to protect, to defend. "That's awful chivalrous of you, Alexei Mashkov."

"Chivalrous?"

"Um, yeah. Like knights. The code of honor, to do right and keep people safe."

Another grin, heart-stopping. "Like that. Would be good to keep you safe, Eric. If I see Nate I will be chivalrous."

There was no Nate, as Alexei had promised. Eric recognized a few faces from the wedding, some of them friendly and some of them cool. Mostly he tended the pie and hoped people would like him, though Alexei coaxed him out in the ice for a few spins.

"He's fast," one of the men who hadn't been at the wedding said. He was tall, though shorter than Alexei, dark-haired, with pretty blue eyes. "Can he handle a puck?"

Eric wasn't sure if it was a legitimate question or a challenge. "Oh," he said, trying to split the difference, "I can handle more than you'd think."

A couple of the guys laughed.

"Be nice, Zimmboni," Alexei chided.

"Give him a stick," ‘Zimmboni’ said. "Let's see."

Eric hadn't forgotten how to play hockey, though the thought of horsing around with a bunch of NHL players felt intimidating as hell. He didn’t want to back down, though. He was trying to make a first impression, and sitting out on this wouldn’t look good. They corralled a few more amateurs into the ice, mostly girlfriends, and came up with two half-assed teams.

"What's your position?" Zimmboni, whose actual name was Jack, asked everyone, like he was taking all this very seriously. Mostly the answer was "You tell me" or "Somewhere I won't get hit."

"Wing," Eric said.

Jack nodded at him, with a little more respect than he'd had earlier. "Okay. You can go on my wing, then."

"Not fair," Alexei called. "Is my husband." 

"We need to keep the teams balanced," Jack said.

"No one cares but you, Zimmboni!"

The guys teased him a little more, but Eric stayed on Jack's team. "Besides," Jack muttered just before the (extremely impromptu) faceoff. "I know Tater's not gonna check you."

"Oh, is that how it is--" And then the game was on, and it was funny how much Eric remembered from his no-contact league back in middle school, when he played hockey for fun. Gabby had played in college, and she was a solid enough winger next to Eric. Over on Tater's side, Thirdy's kids were a trio of hockey-playing maniacs, and Akzhalova, normally on the D line, tended goal. Most everyone else was lucky to know their stick from a puck. But it was fun, and Jack seemed impressed, and by now Eric had seen enough of the team to realize that an impressed Jack Zimmerman meant something.

And he'd been right that Alexei kept a wide berth around Eric, and no one else seemed to have much interest in him, either.

Jack gave him what was almost a smile when they took a break, and he tucked into the maple cream pie happily enough. 

"You make a pie for everyone, Bittle?" Snowy asked. "I can't remember the last time I saw this much food."

"Well, you know, my mama always told me never to come to a party empty-handed." It didn't hurt as much talking about Mama as it had at first. 

"Yeah, you're more than safe," Marty said. "You know he sends Tater off with sandwiches, too? Homemade jam?"

"You're going to make us look bad," Tony’s wife--Allison, maybe?--said.

"It's nothin'," Eric said, feeling his face heat up. "I don't have anything to work on but skatin' until the next semester starts, so I've got time."

The conversation moved on, but Allison (which had turned out to be her name after all) had nudged closer to Eric. Clearly she had something on her mind. "You said--you're still in school?"

He nodded. "It's--my parents pulled me out. By the time I came up here, we all figured it would be easier for me to sit out the semester than try to catch up. Alexei's mama wants me to attend the magnet school for performing arts, and I've auditioned--just waitin' to see now. It's gonna be easier to balance things if I can get some of my dance work in as part of school." 

"You're feeling okay? Safe?"

"He's awful kind," he said, glancing over to where Alexei was laughing with Marty. "I ain't gonna lie, I was worried at first, but--we're doing okay." He wanted to bite his tongue for that _ain't._

"I'm glad," she said. "Randall says Tater's a sweetheart, but--sometimes it's different, at home."

"We're doing okay," he said. "Gabby and Marty check in on us, too.."

"If you need anything," she said, "you'll give us a call?"

"Yeah," he said. "That's...thank you, Allison. That's sweet of you."

She reached over and squeezed his hand. "Give me your phone, I'll put my number in. And I want yours, I want some tips the next time I take a crack at a pie crust. Normally I just buy the ones in the store."

"Oh, they're easy once you get the hang of 'em. I've been trying some pastries--and Russian food has a lot of dumplings and meat pies, too. Gotta expand the repertoire a little.”

"Oh, yes," she said. "You and me, we're going to hang out."

"Well, all right," he said.

"Things went all right, yes?" Alexei asked on the way home. "I noticed wives and girlfriends thought you were interesting."

"Yeah." He couldn't say that along with the phone numbers they’d offered him safety if he needed it. The whole point of keeping numbers in secret was that they were secret. And he'd decided that he needed to have that little secret, for now.

He didn't _distrust_ Alexei. They'd lived together for a few months. They were starting to be comfortable together, the way Eric always thought having a roommate in college might be. But it still was...something imposed on him. He put the numbers in his phone, because it wasn't like _those_ were suspicious, and Alexei even seemed to approve of his making friends. It would be fine. Alexei didn't need to know everything.

He had to keep some things for himself.


	3. Interview

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to start moving forward.

Of course, it wasn’t as easy as cooking and skating.

There were interviews with Immigration, jarring, personal questions that made Eric blush the color of a Red Wings jersey. They asked about vacations and their plans for the future, and Alexei spun these wild stories about hoping to be able to bring Eric back to Russia someday, about children, about watching Eric develop into the world-class figure skater he almost was (and he could be, maybe, and that gave him a little bit of a thrill, didn't it?).

Eric couldn't match it, or even come close, but Alexei talked enough for ten men once he got on a roll. He was so obviously proud of Eric that it helped, too ("no, take another slice of pie, B makes it! Hard to believe he finds time to bake, yes? He tells me it makes him less stressed. My nutritionist, he pulls out his hair, but it is so good, cannot be too bad for you, yes?"). Maybe it wasn't the most believable story, but with Georgia and half the red states pushing the _better marry than burn_ angle for all its worth and Alexei being a top defender for the NHL, they had a little cushion of safety they could count on.

"You know," Eric said, after they'd gotten another of the small, terrifying emails that said that Alexei was clear to stay in the country, "if you need me to clear out some night for company, I'm glad to."

"Company?" Alexei looked up at him with a frown. "Am not ashamed of you, am not ashamed of my friends."

"No," Eric said, and this was _exactly_ the way he'd been praying this conversation would _not_ go, "you know, like. Company. Personal kind of company."

Alexei half-squinted. "I am sorry," he said. 'My English, not good enough yet to understand. Personal like what? You and I, we are personal. My friends are personal."

"No," he said, and sat down at the chair across from Alexei, the empty casserole dish he’d been drying hitting the table harder than he'd realized. "Like if you want a...special friend. Someone you want to be alone with."

Alexei's face showed a half-dozen emotions. "You are meaning a date?"

"Well, yes," he said.

"Eric," Alexei said, and it was maybe the first time Alexei had not-quite-called him an idiot, "we are married. INS is watching. Paparazzi is watching. And I do not want a 'special friend,' even if they were not. I do not play games like that. Is there someone you--" Eric could see him trying to find the right words in English. "If you have a friend, and you trust him, I...do not want to hurt you. Stop you. But I want to stay here, B." 

"I don't--there's nobody," he said. "I just want to be fair to you."

"More fair to keep me here than to get me..." He waved his hand. "I am fine. Please. Do not ask me this again, B. If you want to leave, I will not trap you here. But I am here as long as you--"

He'd hurt Alexei's feelings. That had been the last thing he wanted. "Alexei," he said. He hated talking about this stuff. Hated thinking about it. "I'm--I'm here. For the long haul. I'm not gonna mess up your green card. If I break my ankle and never skate again, I won't do that."

"You do not have to make me promises," Alexei said. Lord, his eyes were pretty in the light. 

"I know. But I'm gonna. I can't live with myself if I don't. I can't live--tiptoeing around each other all the time. I want to be honest." 

"I am not very good with tiptoes," Alexei said. "I would very much like to stay friends with you."

"Good, because that's what I want too. And you don't have to buy me nice things for that."

"I did not buy you nice things for that, so you are lucky." 

_I didn't want to like you this much,_ Eric thought. "I know I can't begin to pay you back," he said.

"Not paying back." Alexei waved his hand. "No. You are here, we are friends, we make things nice for each other. You make pies, we both make dinner, I can buy things, I am not here so often to help. All right?"

"All right," he said.

After that, his high school interview was easy.

"Mr. Bittle," the principal said. He was tall and thin, African-American, with little wire-rimmed glasses. "Please, come in."

His office was as neat as a pin, and his nameplate gleamed. Eric's inner MooMaw couldn't help but approve, even as his inner cynic noted the chair was positioned so almost anyone, even someone as tall as Alexei, would be looking up at Principal Charles.

"I sure am grateful for this opportunity," he said. 

"We’re glad to have you here, Mr. Bittle. I’ll warn you, we put more weight on the interview process than many schools," he said. "Especially in cases like yours."

"Because I'm transferrin'?" Eric realized too late he hadn't added that final 'g' sound. Damn. Too late now.

"Because your transcript is--well, Mr. Bittle. I'll be honest. It's a stereotype, but the fact is we've found ourselves disappointed in students from the rural South more than once. They're not used to this level of difficulty in the curriculum, or this level of diversity--it's about much more than LGBTQ acceptance, you understand. The student body leans left. There are more than twenty languages spoken here, and no one's going to switch to English for your convenience in eavesdropping. While your test scores are respectable, you may have to do some catch-up, and not just in your coursework."

"That'd be just fine, Sir. I'm ready to work hard, and I've been waiting most of my life for an opportunity to do something...something just like this. I always thought that I'd apply to college somewhere more...well, where you don't get judged over what church you go to on Sunday or what you grew up speakin' at home. When I was skating--" There, he'd managed to end a damn word properly. "I think you know that figure skating's an international sport, Principal Charles. Now I'll be the first to admit it's got its problems with acceptance and diversity,” and didn’t he sound like he was talking to the press now, “but I learned Russian and French words before I ever even had my first competition. My first coach, she worked hard to make sure everyone who wanted to skate had a fair shot. And you know--I don't want to name drop, but we both know who I'm married to, and the Falcs have one of the most diverse lineups in the whole NHL. I can't show you what's in my heart, but if I could, I think you'd understand that I'll be proud to be a student here, if you choose me."

"Well, at least you've got good answers," Principal Charles said, a little wryly.

"Always been able to think on my feet, Sir."

Principal Charles glanced down at the stack of papers on his desk. "That brings us to academics," he said. "Your test scores are, frankly, unimpressive. As I said, you're going to have to catch up, and catch up quickly. We pride ourselves on supporting performers, but some of that support means giving them a thorough education. We don't let people 'just get by' here. You'll be expected to work, and work hard. We're not interested in watching you struggle--there are tutors, remedial classes if it comes to that--but we do need to watch you put in a serious effort. You're an artist and a scholar here, Mr. Bittle. One need not be sacrificed on the altar of the other."

"I understand, Sir." He'd never been the best student, even before he'd switched schools. Something else had always seemed more important--skating, music, boys. But Coach Elaine had always said that one bad fall could end a career, so he had to keep up his grades, and he'd managed to get by. Catching up couldn't possibly be that hard. Not if he buckled down and put his mind to it. And having a tutor around sure wouldn't hurt. "I'm willing to put in the work, if you're willing to take a chance on me."

"I still don't have the evaluation from your audition," he said. "We evaluate each independently, and then meet as a board to discuss your admission. Some people might say we're duplicating work, but we find it invaluable to have a full picture of each student, with as few pre-existing impressions as possible."

Eric nodded, like that all made sense.

"Now, do you have questions for me?"

 _Oh, do I,_ he thought, but Coach Mashkova had briefed him on this part, and he knew he had to ask some questions, but not too many, and the right ones. He wished he hadn't put his notes on his phone; Principal Charles didn't seem like the kind of guy who wanted to see students checking their phones during an interview. 

He took a deep breath. "I know not everyone's going to be excited to have me here. I'm married to an NHL player. You talk about there being a lot of languages here, well I hear Russian every day. I know what we have isn't what's done up here in Rhode Island. And I don't have to have people like it. But I already spent every day at school tryin' to watch my back, and I can't say I'm looking forward to doing it again."

Principal Charles nodded. "That's a very legitimate concern. There aren't many other married students here--you might be the only one, if you attend in the spring--but there are other students connected to famous faces. We cannot guarantee what's in our students' hearts, if you'll permit me to use the expression, but we have clear standards for behavior and for treating one another with dignity and respect. We have students who were homeless due to their parents' rejection. I think you'll find a lot of sympathy."

"I don't really want sympathy, Principal Charles. I just want to get my diploma and get back to dancing."

"Well," he said. "I think this might be a place where you can do that. Do you have additional questions?"

He did, and he mostly managed to remember the questions on his list. Principal Charles wasn't the kind of person anyone was going to describe as warm and fuzzy, but he was encouraging under the firm exterior. Eric could see himself going to class at the school, dancing there.

If they accepted him.

"How was it?" Alexei asked that night, over Skype.

"I don't know for sure, but I think it was all right. How's the hotel?"

Alexei shrugged. "Is hotel. All the same unless there are bedbugs. No bedbugs, so good hotel." He leaned back from the screen and stretched. "Let me know when you hear, yes? If school does not take you, we will find another place. George in front office says that her brother-in-law works at very good private school, not too far away."

"I don't need a private school, Alexei."

"Will need somewhere with privacy, though. Have to be careful. You will get a lot of questions. Mama said this school has had famous people before, child actors. You will be boring there."

"I'll be boring anywhere if I set my mind to it," he said.

"Never, B."

Alexei was back in town when he got the email accepting him for the Spring semester. Eric told Raelene and wrote a note to MooMaw, but he waited to tell anyone else until Alexei got home from practice.

Alexei looked tired when he came in; Eric was starting to get the schedule down a little in his head, and he realized that it was just going to be more and more of a grind until the season was done. Nate might have complained about the pies, but Eric could see Alexei losing weight every week, and that couldn't be all that healthy, either. Hockey took a different toll than skating, but there was still a toll.

"You are home," he said, and he always looked a little less tired when he saw Eric. "Good day?"

"I got in," he said, and he was ready for when Alexei came running over to wrap him in a bear hug.

"I knew!" Alexei said. "They are going to be so lucky to have you, yes?"

He hugged Alexei tight. "I'm not going to be able to help as much here--"

"Do not care about that," Alexei said. "I can wash dishes all by myself. Would rather have you graduate." He leaned back and winked. "Otherwise, who will take care of me when I retire, yes? Cannot be kept husband forever."

"Course not," he said, though talking about the future like that always made his stomach clench a little. "Gotta pull my own weight."

"I am proud," Alexei said, and Eric wondered if he'd picked up on Bitty's worry. "Do not--we are in this together, yes?"

"Yes," Eric said, breathing out. "How was practice?"

"Good. We are going to have good game tomorrow. Can you come?"

"Allison already told me I had to sit with her."

"Glad you are making friends," he said, and patted Eric's shoulder as he let go. "And you will in school too. Have you told Mama?"

"I wanted to tell you first," he said.

"I will call her. Has been too long since I talked to her anyway, I will get in trouble."

School was real again. He'd have to buy supplies. Lord, he didn't even have a decent backpack any more. Maybe Gabby would take him out, she was used to shopping for her kids...

It hit him hard for a second. He was a seventeen-year-old high school student who'd lost half a year because his homophobic parents had kicked him out, and he was also the husband of an NHL player who made him sandwiches and hung out with a bunch of married ladies. It was enough to make your brain ache.

He texted Gabby anyway. _Want to take me school shopping? ♥_

_Does that mean you got in?!?!_

_:D :D :D_

_Does Alexei know? He'll be so excited for you!_

_Just told him._

_We're definitely going shopping! Tell Alexei we're going to spend all his money 😂_

_I will NOT._ Though he still didn't have any money on his own. It felt like he was living on credit. He could hear Alexei talking to his mother in Russian; the language was getting familiar to him, though he still didn't understand much. He'd have to warn Alexei if he started getting the hang of it.

_We'll figure it out. When do you go back?_

_January, beginning of the semester._

_We've got some time, then. You going to the game tomorrow?_

_Yep._

_I'll see you then, we'll figure out out. OK?_

_Thanks._

_;-)_

Alexei came back to him when he got off the phone. "You are going back to high school. We need to do something. Celebrate." His lips pursed. "We could go skating," he said. "I know it is strange, to skate for fun, but I have a pair of figure skates Mama gave me. I know how to do lifts. You could lift me, even."

"I don't think I--"

"You are trained, yes? They had you practice with pairs, Mama told me."

"You're six foot four, Alexei."

"You are stronger than you look, B." He clapped Eric on the shoulder. 

Maybe he was right. He'd have to work hard once classes started. "All right," he said. "But maybe not skating. You want, you can put your figure skates on for family skate."

"They will chirp me for that," Alexei said, good-naturedly. "You had better lift me good, make up for it."

"Look, we've got all of Providence, you need to tell me what you want to do, Alexei."

"We could dance. There are nightclubs. You can go in, just no drinking."

He thought of that photo, the one that had put Alexei in danger in the first place. "Is that what you used to do? Before the whole--marryin' thing?"

"Sometimes," Alexei said.

"Who was he? In that picture."

"A friend," Alexei said. "We did not mean...it was not serious. Friends, having fun."

"From the Falcs?"

"No. Was very careful around teammates. Silly to think there was somewhere I didn't have to be careful."

"There's home, now," Eric said. "And I guess the good thing about bein' outed like that is no one can really do it twice."

"Is not home," Alexei said, a little sharper than Eric had anticipated, and maybe sharper than he'd meant. "I left home a long, long time ago, B. And I cannot go back. Not after--"

Oh. Of course. Eric had left his home for good, too, but he'd been angry. Alexei had probably been full of hope. NHL contract, new country. He'd probably planned on going back. And only then did he have the door shut behind him. "I'm sorry," he said.

"It is not anything--it is not anything we can change," he said. "But you are right. We can go dancing, and no one will say anything. We can hold hands and everyone will say 'oh, that is Eric Bittle and Alexei Mashkov, they are married.' It is normal. We will be normal." He almost laughed, but it sounded too bitter for that. "I thought, maybe someday when I came here, I work hard, and maybe things will change. They have been changing, yes? I will be able to stay here. Retire here, maybe find someone special. And then, that would be normal, yes?"

"I'm awful sorry, Alexei."

"It is not us, B. We should not apologize." He reached over and took Eric's hand. Lord, his hands were big. "All right?"

"All right," he said, and he needed to stop thinking about what those big hands would feel like lower down. "I won't apologize. But I wish it'd been different."

"I do too, B," he said. "I like you. You are good to be with. But this is not..."

"No," he said. "It's not."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay between chapters! I had to fix a major timeline error, and it's put everything behind a bit. I think I'm on track again now.


	4. Holidays on Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor warning in the end notes.

Eric was on the road for Thanksgiving, which saved him thinking too much about how the family'd be celebrating back home. He ate Japanese food in Toronto and roundly ignored any mention of the holidays. If Coach Mashkova noticed his mood was brittle, she was kind enough not to mention it. He did respectably, at least. _Put it into the work,_ she’d said, _show your emotions on the ice._ And he didn't want to let it show. If his parents looked up what he was doing, he wasn't about to make them think he was unhappy. They'd let him go, and hadn't much cared what he wanted. They didn't deserve to see his tears.

For once, he was the one Skyping back to Alexei about hotels and bad food. "Will be in Montreal soon," Alexei said. "Zimmboni is excited, he can use his French again. He knows French better than English, can you believe it? Here I am, can barely speak English as well as he does Russian."

"Your English has gotten so much better, just since I met you, honey."

"I am still not so good, though."

"You know I hardly know a word of Russian, and look at who I live with. And I've got your mama to deal with, too. I should be as good as a native, now, with all that."

"Very silly of you, B. Ah, that is reminding me. Is almost Christmas for you. I do not know what you want. Will be hard, I know. But we can have a tree if you want? Presents?"

"That'd be nice, Alexei." It'd probably make him miserable, but it didn't seem right to _not_ have a tree, and Alexei was so darn sincere about it all. "I don't think we need much for presents, but we could have a nice meal, and a tree. I always did want to try plum pudding."

"English, yes?"

Eric nodded. "Have to make it in a water bath." Mama always fussed about the mess she was worried it would make, but Alexei never cared about that stuff, and Eric was good at cleaning as he went. It might be fun to cook some of the things Coach and Mama had never wanted to try. "And we could do some Russian food too, even if your Christmas is next month." 

"Last year I had Chinese food, Mama was on the road. Christmas not so important for us, anyway. We could have Chinese for lunch, give us more time to work on nice dinner."

That actually sounded pretty nice. And the kind of thing he never would've done at home. "I think your mama will be home, too. We can have her over."

"Could have Zimmboni over. He is Jewish, eats Chinese food like me. Be nice to have a party, yes?"

"That sounds real nice."

"I can look for tree, or we can wait until you are home."

"You go ahead and pick out a tree. You can surprise me."

Alexei grinned. "I will pick out something nice, yes? Will wait for lights and ornaments until you get home."

"Okay," he said. It wasn't home, really. But it'd be nicer with a tree, and Alexei seemed excited. "I'll look forward to it."

Sometimes Alexei asked him how he was doing, and he said he was doing fine, because Alexei was kind, and Eric was liking him more and more, but he hadn't earned Eric's tears, either. He'd been through too much. Any time he'd tried reaching out, any time he'd thought he had a connection, it'd blown up in his face or been taken away. Better to just put on his brave face. Before he knew it he'd be eighteen, and have his own choices. He could do what he wanted to, as long as he stayed in the states that didn't require marriage. He'd stay with Alexei long enough for his green card to be stable, but then they could date other people, be free. Maybe they'd be friends, someday, look back on the years they were married and laugh.

Lord, he knew they wouldn't. But he could get through this. He was going to be a competitor next year, a strong one if he and Coach Mashkova had anything to do about it. He was starting to make friends with some of the other skaters on the circuit. He might not be able to get national sponsorship the way someone who wasn't outed would, but he could get sponsors if he won. And he was going to win.

He came home aching but happy, feeling more ready than he had been to compete next season. He’d lost time but he wasn’t hopeless.

The apartment opened into the kitchen. It had always seemed nice and homey, but this time when Eric came in he smelled pine and cinnamon. There was a note on the counter. _Back after practice. Hope you like the tree! ♥_

Eric put his bags down and walked into the living area.

The tree was huge, so tall it brushed the top of the high ceiling. Eric wasn't sure he'd be able to fit a star on top.

(Mama had had a big bow; maybe they could get an angel. He'd have to look up what topped Russian Christmas trees.)

There were a few boxes of lights under the tree, and a pretty tree skirt that looked like lace. It looked homey.

He knew there were some cranberries in the freezer; he could string them with popcorn. He'd wanted to do that ever since he saw it in a picture book. The lights Alexei had chosen were pretty, shaped like old-fashioned bulbs. He wondered if Alexei would mind if he bought some ornaments. Probably not, since he'd picked out the tree.

Google told him those pretty glass stars that looked a little like spikes were traditional on Russian trees, and they didn’t look anything like what Mama had had, so he looked at those when he was out shopping. He found a pretty blue-and-gold one that almost looked like Falconer colors, and some other ornaments that seemed right. He bought some small cookie cutters and pretty ribbons, because he could put them on the tree as ornaments and then use them later. _Waste not, want not,_ his Grandma Bittle used to say. Eric wondered what she'd say about his life, now. She'd always been pretty traditional, but she'd also been the first one to say that people should marry who they wanted, and she'd been the only one who didn't cut Aunt Winnie off when she got divorced. He was pretty sure how Grandpa Bittle would have reacted. Just as well he'd passed years ago.

He missed being home, even though he didn't want to be there any more. He missed the way Georgia smelled in December. He missed the bakery he used to go to to get inspiration, and baking with Mama's Tupperware measuring cups. Alexei's were nicer, technically, but they weren't the same.

He put the lights on the tree, checking it a couple of times for empty spots, and then hung up a few of the ornaments. The star could wait until Alexei got back. Eric hoped he'd like it.

He realized he could make some gingerbread, too, so he checked his ingredients and put the dough together. Then it was almost time for the game, so he turned on the TV and popped some popcorn. 

Gabby had told him he was welcome to come over, but it was going to be a late game, and he wasn't in much of a mood for company. Instead, he kept track of what the girls were Tweeting. They could talk trash just as well as the men. 

Alexei sent him a text between the first and second: _Is tree OK?_

_Just beautiful, hon. I hope you don't mind I put some things on._

_No, I thought you would. Will bring back an ornament from Tampa Bay, yes? To celebrate our beating Lighting._

They were tied 1-1. _You score one for me, then._

_Will do. ;-)_

Alexei was a defender, of course, but you never knew. And he did seem to love a challenge.

_What kind of pie do you want when you get home? I want to do something festive._

_Zimmboni keeps talking about some pie with meat. From Canada?_

Oh, that did sound good. It was called--tartare? That wasn't it. Something that sounded like tortoise? _Oh, I can give that a shot. What kind of meat should I put in?_

_You surprise me. I will bring appetite, yes?_

_You do that._

_Will be nice to have someone to come home to this year._

And here Eric had been feeling sorry for himself. Alexei had probably spent more than one Russian Christmas alone, thanks to his mama's schedule and the demands of hockey. Eric might not be where he grew up, but he was still in his own country, where he knew the language, where he had friends. _We'll have a real nice time,_ he said, and promised to himself that he'd make it true.

Maybe he'd hear from his family. He wondered if he wanted to. Of course Raelene sent a lot of pictures and catty texts, and MooMaw was still writing every week. He wished he could talk the nursing home people into setting her up on Skype, but he was probably lucky just to be able to mail back and forth. Who knew what the rest of the family thought about it? Well, they could pound sand. He still was his MooMaw's Dickie, even if he wasn't anyone else's any more. 

Alexei put up an assist, and Eric cheered to the empty apartment. "We'll welcome him home real nice," he told Senor Bun, who was sitting next to him on the couch. "Show him a real American Christmas." 

Alexei liked the ornaments, and seemed delighted to put the star on. He insisted on making royal icing so they could decorate the gingerbread, and he even bought paste food coloring so they could get the colors right. He had a pretty good eye for color, even if he mostly made a mess of the icing. "This will be abstract gingerbread man, yes? Kandinsky gingerbread man."  


"I didn't know you were an art connoisseur."  


Alexei frowned at the unexpected word.  


"A fan, honey. Little classier than that, but--"  


"Ah!" He smiled. "Mama would have been disappointed if I did not learn about art. She wanted me to be well-rounded. Not just--ah, 'meathead?'”  


"No chance of you bein' a meathead, honey."  


"I was not so good at it, though. Not an artist. But I remember some things, yes? Managed to keep things through the smacks in the head. Was better with music. And ballet, I remember. Tchaikowsky, the ballets. Watching the dancers. I could not dance like that, but I learn what makes good dance." He put down the icing bag for a moment. "It is why I like watching you skate. You are dancer, too."  


"I’ve done ballet for years," he said. "I’m not that good with it either, you want to know the truth. But you know, it helps with fundamentals. And I wanted to do my best when I skated, that helped. Can't remember when I didn't feel at home on the ice."  


"Me neither," Alexei said. "Oh. We should put ice skates on gingerbread men, yes? Can make hockey players and skaters."  


"Oh, I got some colored sugar here somewhere, we could even make the skates silver-looking," Eric said, getting up. "I like that a whole lot."  


"Me too," said Alexei, looking absurdly proud. "We will make our tree a big rink, yes?"  


"That sounds just fine, honey."  


"You know we have time off for Christmas. Mama says you do not have competition that week."  


Most of the skating world was busy with the Grand Prix Final, and he wasn't at that level yet. "I don't, hun."  


"We could go on trip. Your grandmother misses you, yes?"  


Oh, that made his heart hurt. "I don't know if I’m allowed to visit her at the nursing home any more."

"She sends you so many letters, must want to see you."

"Mama has power of attorney."

Alexei frowned, in a way that said he wasn't sure he understood what Bitty had said but was absolutely sure he didn't like it. "Cannot stop someone from visiting family. We will check. NHL always takes off for Christmas. We could have road trip."

"I don't think your mama will let me take too many days off in the middle of the season."

"But you do not have competition that week, I checked. I am big NHL hotshot, can get you ice time."

"Maybe not down south, honey."

"Maybe not." His mouth twisted. "I will talk to George. Maybe we could do nursing home visit, make goodwill tour for holidays. Get pictures with little old ladies, big smiles. Get permission from nursing home, no one can say no, yes? You can bake for people there. Everyone will be happy."

"I don't think--" It didn't feel honest. But he hadn't asked for any of this, had he? "We'll have to plan," he said. "It has to be okay with the Falcs, and with your mama."

Alexei nodded. "We will make work. You will see your MooMoo."

 _Close enough,_ Eric thought. "You're...you're too sweet, honey. You don't have to do this for me."

"I am lucky to have Mama here," he said. "And Christmas for me, it is not until January. No good to be alone on holidays. I would not want little old lady to suffer, missing her grandson. No?"

"She'd be over the moon," Eric confessed.

"You think about it. I will see what we can do. Deal?" He stuck out his hand, all formal.

It was awful hard to say no to Alexei when he got all sincere and generous. "Deal," he conceded, and shook Alexei's hand.

The nursing home was the same as he remembered, even with the same decorations up as last Christmas. It didn't smell too bad, though he caught the faint scent of disinfectant under the pine; it was a good staff, he knew, and they took good care of the people there, but you couldn't escape that it was a place for people who just weren't well enough to take care of themselves any more. MooMaw had fought living there kicking and screaming, though she'd made friends and was, by all accounts, a menace at pinochle. She'd adjusted, and Eric was happy she was safe and getting cared for. It was just that sometimes he remembered she wasn't strong enough to be in her own home any more, and it hurt.

But seeing her again, that wouldn't hurt. That was what he'd been thinking about all week. It was a good thing he wasn't back in school yet, because he couldn't focus on a damn thing, and Coach Mashkova had given him hell about it.

But he was here now, along with a half-dozen NHL players from the Falcs and Gladiators and a handful of hockey wives. The Falcs' PR manager, George, had turned it into a multi-state goodwill tour. Right now she was leaning over the counter and talking sweet to the manager. She had a big smile, and she clearly knew how to use it. Eric was impressed.

"We really do appreciate this," she said.

"Well, it's nice for the residents to have some excitement, and we have some big NHL fans here. Kind of fun to have a north-south event, too."

"Well, I know Tater's happy to be here, that's for sure. He’s so far from home, and the Gladiators have some Russian players--"

Eric stopped listening. He'd dressed up with a holiday sweater--too hot for the weather but all right with the air conditioning cranked up--and he'd baked the little lemon tarts MooMaw liked best. She probably couldn't have more than one or two, but it was good to have a taste, and the nice thing about delivering to a nursing home was that there were plenty of people coming in and out to eat the leftovers.

His hands were shaking. Lord, why was he so nervous? She'd be happy to see him. She always would be. She _would._

He still remembered his way down the hall to her room, where she was bent over a puzzle; teacups and saucers, real pretty. He couldn’t say anything for a second, just tried to swallow around the lump in his throat, but her roommate Tina was working on the puzzle too, and her hearing was a little better. “Peg, you’ve got a visitor.”

MooMaw looked up, and her eyes lit up. "Dickie!"

Eric couldn't speak at all; he just ran over to her as she held out her arms, and if she didn't smell like Chanel No 5, like always. Oh, he loved her. Oh, he was so glad to see her, and damn, he was crying. She'd never minded when he cried, though.

"What on Earth are you doing here, child?"

"It's the NHL visit, MooMaw. They fixed it so I could come, and we didn't tell nobody so they wouldn't think anything about it. Mama and Coach don't know, this is our surprise. Just ours."

"Well," she said. "My goodness. That man who took you away from me, he's here?"

"He's awful nice, MooMaw, don't be like that."

"I just miss my grandbaby, honey."

"Well, I'm here now."

She moved back so she could regard him at arm's length. "And isn't that just my Christmas miracle."

"I'm so glad to see you. I brought you some cranberry tarts, and I--"

"Oh, you're present enough, sweetie. Don't you look nice, too, in that sweater. So handsome. And goin' back to school--I'm just so proud of you."

Eric hadn't realized how much he'd wanted someone in the family to be proud of him until that moment, and then he was crying all over again.

When Alexei came in, MooMaw was patting him on the back, cooing at Eric like he was a lost baby bird, and didn't he feel like one at that. "Well," MooMaw said, and Eric heard her tone cool. "You must be Mr. Mashkov."

Alexei, oblivious or neck-deep in bravado, walked closer, and Eric straightened up in time to see him stretch out his hand. "You are very famous Mrs. Hill. Is honor to meet you."

"Well, is that so," she said, and it wasn't quite icy, but it sure wasn't warm.

"Eric has said so much about you. Am happy to know you."

She shook, like a queen deigning to recognize a subject, and well, that was a start, wasn’t it. “You’re a hockey player, I understand.” She knew damn well what Alexei was, but Alexei wouldn’t note the insult, so it was probably all right. Eric realized he wanted MooMaw to like Alexei. Maybe this wasn’t the best circumstances, but--well, hell, he liked Alexei. 

He nodded. “Play defense for Falconers. Work to keep people safe.”

Oh, but of course Alexei wasn’t stupid. Eric smiled a little to himself. “He’s a good cook, too. He can’t put up jam like Aunt Judy, but he can make a mean borsht.”

MooMaw had reclaimed her hand. “Well, I’m sure that’s a fine thing to make.”

“Oh, good heavens, Peg,” Tina butted in. “You sit down, Mr. Mashkov. I’m sure we’re both pleased to meet you.”

“Ah,” Alexei said, knowing instinctively he was in the middle of a roomate squabble. “Alexei, please. Am just Alexei.”

“Now,” Tina said, as Alexei wedged himself into one of the cheap metal visitor’s chairs. “How long do I get to visit with you fine young men?”

It was way too soon before they were all packed back on the bus. Eric settled next to Alexei and pulled out his headphones.

“Good visit?” Alexei said, before he could slip them on. “Everything okay?” He was nervous. Lord, for a man his size he could worry.

"Real good," Eric said. "You know--you didn't have to do this. Push for this."

"Was good PR. George agreed. Nice photos with little old ladies. Man in walker pinched me on ass. Everyone had fun."

Eric ignored the slight flare of jealousy he felt. Alexei had a very nice butt. Eric would never be so confident, to do that to a total stranger, even if he was in a walker. "I think MooMaw liked you a little better, now she's gotten to meet you." A little. Especially since Alexei didn't seem to pick up the nuances of Southern disdain. That was fine with Eric. He had to explain enough about the South already, and he probably wasn't going to breathe easy until they crossed the Virginia state line, even if he was in a bus full of NHL players. Old habits died hard.

"She is very dignified lady," Alexei said, then frowned. "Is that right word? Dignified?"

"I think so," he said. "She'd be flattered, anyway."

"Good," Alexei said. "I liked her."

Eric wondered if MooMaw would even tell Mama about the visit or she'd wait and see if Suzanne caught it on the news. Either was possible. Either way she'd be smug about it.

That was all right. She could be as smug as she wanted to be, she was his MooMaw and she deserved it. She'd liked the present, too; he'd checked ahead to make sure the blanket would be allowed at the nursing home, and they'd said it would be just fine. It had been so warm and soft. _It'll be just like a hug from me, whenever you use it,_ he'd said.

_Oh, Dickie, you big sweetheart._

She'd asked when he was coming back home where he belonged, and he didn't have the heart to tell her he didn't think he'd ever belonged there at all. She loved him too much to think that he wouldn’t feel the same way about her home state. But maybe he'd be able to visit again, especially after he turned eighteen. It wasn't that far away, now.

Alexei got back up to hassle Jack about something (Earlier it had been "Zimmboni, you are too quiet, have been reading and not singing." "Tater, you know I'm Jewish." "'Let It Snow' is just about snow, Zimmboni. Still have snow in Canada, yes?") and Eric slid his headphones back in and leaned his head back against the seat.

Things hadn't been too bad. It was Christmas tomorrow, and all he had to do was hope the spirit would stay with him another twenty-four hours. 

He was in an okay mood in the morning, and Alexei ran out to get a feast's worth of Chinese food so Eric could keep working. He was pretty proud of what he'd done when it was all set up and Alexei ushered in their guests.

"B has put together real international dinner. Russian food for Mama and me, proper zakuski. and he made cookies with the hats--"

"Hamantashen?"

"He says they are not right for December, but he did not want to fry donuts. Nate is unhappy enough, yes? He likes to bake. Is good cook, keeps me from losing too much weight during season." He patted his stomach dramatically.

Alexei sounded so warm and happy whenever he got onto a favorite subject, and food was certainly one of them. Jack sounded indulgent, which was probably the best attitude to have when Alexei got on a roll. Eric wondered if all their conversations were like this. Jack didn't seem like much of a talker. Alexei said he was obsessed with history documentaries, and sometimes he could get Jack to talk about that for a while. ("Says he would have studied history here if NHL did not work out. Interesting man, Zimmboni.") 

Jack had played hockey all his life, much like Alexei, with the exception of two months before the draft deadline, when he'd disappeared from the Q for unspecified 'health reasons' that no one had ever cleared up, at least not to the sports reporters' satisfaction. Eric had heard rumors that it was mental health, drugs, or both, though the official line had been a broken bone with an uncertain diagnosis. If Alexei knew any more than that, he wouldn't say. They sometimes played against Jack's old teammates, which was normally not a big deal, unless it was the Aces.

The Aces had a reputation for playing old-school hockey, fast, and just this short of dirty, and their top scorer was a pale-eyed, blond, very pretty winger named Kent Parson. He'd been drafted first, while Jack and his 'uncertain' status had gone much further down the line. Eric wasn't sure if the rivalry had started then or there was more to it. Whatever had happened, Tater said that every Aces game got bad. Penalties seemed more personal. Jack got tense. 

Mostly guys didn't hold grudges from team to team; they couldn't afford to, with trades happening fast and without warning half the time. But there was something underneath with Jack and Kent. "I do not know," Alexei said. "I do not like what it does to Zimmboni. Would be happier never playing Aces."

"I'm sorry."

"We beat them, is fine. And away games, you see Vegas strip. Is pretty. Fake, but pretty.”

There were no Aces right now, though. Jack picked up one of the hamantashen and popped it in his mouth. "Oh," he said. "That's good. Nice work, Bittle. My grandmother Zimmerman would be impressed, and that's not easy to do. Maman has been trying to do it for years."

"Well, I'm glad you like them,” he said. It might have been flattery, but it was working. “And we've got a tourtière in the oven, made sure to not mix milk and meat."

"I don't keep that kosher," he said. "No pork, no shellfish, but that's about it."

"Oh, hell, I bought shrimp--"

"Is all right," Alexei said. "I will eat shrimp."

"Yeah," Jack agreed. "I don't mind. And you know Tater can finish off the whole fridge if he wants to."

"Is true," Alexei clapped Jack on the shoulder. "Pie smells very good. And Eric has plum pudding, for later."

"I'm not sure it's going to be any good. But we've got the market down the street, we can get something to eat if it's awful."

"Will not be awful," Alexei said. "I have faith, Eric. You are very good cook."

Eric's face grew warm. "Even the best make mistakes sometimes, honey. But let's see how things go, all right?"

“I am sure things will be fine,” Coach Mashkova said. She’d kissed Eric on the cheek when she came in, and Alexei grabbed her in a bear hug. No matter how long they'd been apart, he always looked so thrilled to see her. It was sweet, and Eric tried to ignore the little pang he got in his heart when he saw it. He wondered if he'd ever see his own Mama again, or if he'd ever feel that uncomplicated joy. 

Jack seemed to notice. "Hey, Bittle," he said. "You guys put skaters on the tree, huh?"

"We sure did," Eric said, and it was kind of the man to offer a distraction. "We tried to make one for every Falconer, but some of 'em came out prettier than others."

"Now I have to see this," Jack said, snagging another cookie. Jack was different when there were just four of them in the apartment; he was still quiet, still set a little apart, but he was more relaxed, a little more human. While Alexei and his mama worked their way through a bottle of wine and talked Eric into a glass before moving onto vodka with dessert, Jack stayed with a cider for most of the night and then switched to ice water. Eric wondered, a little, about the rumors.

They watched some old movies, and the meat pie came out pretty nice; Eric and Coach Mashkova had a generous helping each and let Alexei and Jack have the rest. He'd roasted some root vegetables, too, parsnips and carrots with butter and herbs, which was a little friendlier to a figure skater's diet plan, and kept out some lean meat from making the pie for later. He'd made a cornbread stuffing, because it didn't feel like Christmas without it, and an old-fashioned corn pudding, forgoing the bacon fat for Jack's sake. He'd made his own cranberry sauce from scratch, with less sugar and a touch of maple syrup, and a wilted spinach salad with balsamic vinaigrette. It all went over pretty well, but Alexei was definitely his most appreciative diner. "Am very lucky, to live with such a good cook, yes?"

"No complaints here," Jack said. "Thanks for putting all this together, Eric. I know..." He paused. "This can't be an easy year."

"Well, no," Eric said, feeling the lump in his throat and deciding to work past it. "It sure wasn't, but havin' some friends around helped a lot."

Coach Mashkova looked over at her son and said something in Russian. Something about Christmas. Alexei answered back, and his face was softer and sadder. "Is--" he said, to Jack and Eric. "Is hard to know, when you will not be home. I am sorry. Hard to say in English."

"You do fine, Alexei, just fine. Sometimes I don't know the right words in English myself." The timer went off then, and lord if that wasn't a relief. "Oh, let's see how this plum puddin's gone, huh? It has to sit for a bit while I put the sauce together, but we should get an idea how how it looks, anyway."

It looked good, and it smelled divine, so much so that everyone came into the kitchen to get a better look at it while he got the sauce in order. "This is very nice, B," Alexei said. "You will have to make this for us next year."

"If I'm not in the Final, I will," he said. 

"We are planning on Eric attending the Grand Prix Final," Coach Mashkova said. "But perhaps for our Christmas."

More than a year from now. What was he even going to be doing a year from now? Was this what he wanted? Was this where he’d live?

He felt a little off as he got the pudding served, but it was after they’d finished, with Alexei once again singing Eric’s praises and Jack nodding along, that he felt something hit him like a freight train. He couldn’t quite breathe, and there were hot prickles of discomfort rolling over his skin. “Oh,” he said. “Oh, I need to check--” He muttered an excuse, some excuse, and fled back to the kitchen. He wished the apartment was set up differently, because all he wanted to do was slam the door behind him and hold it closed with his back. Was he having a heart attack? Was he dying? His trainer would’ve realized if he had heart trouble, wouldn’t he?

He put his hands on the counter and tried to focus. He’d turned off the oven, he had the pan soaking. There wasn’t anything he’d forgotten or left to burn, so why was he feeling like he had? Like he was about to skate onto center ice, only he’d forgotten his whole damn program?

“Bittle?” That was. That was Jack.

“I’m fine,” he said. “I just--” _Damn._

"I think--have you ever had a panic attack before?" Jack asked.

"A what?"

"Uh, yeah." Jack looked like he was riffing through index cards in his head. "I mean, stressful day. Christmas."

"I'm all right," he said. "I just--"

“Okay,” Jack said. “I just figured I’d check. Thanks for having me over. “It was nice. Doing the hamantashen for me, I didn’t expect that.”

"I know it's the wrong season--"

"Yeah, but they're always good. I liked the cinnamon. That was cool."

Oh. Well. That was nice. "Well. Thank you." The room wasn't spinning so much.

"I'm getting a beer, you want anything? Cold water? Cold water usually helps." He paused. "At least it usually helps me. Sometimes people say I'm a weirdo, so. I don't know. Anyway, I'll get you some. You'll feel better when you do. Normal stuff. Move through it. You feel like that often?"

He shook his head. No sense lying, apparently. "No," he said. "Not...I get nervous sometimes but that was awful."

Jack was opening the fridge. "Yeah, when I...needed help, I was getting them, like, about once an hour? Not much fun. Here."

The water was cool and tasted good. "Thanks. Um. I don't think I've had that happen before at all."

"That's good," Jack said. "But if it happens a lot, you should tell someone. Your doctor, or Tater, or...you know. Someone you trust."

"Well, thanks," Eric said. "Is...that what you did?"

Jack's smile was wry. "Eventually. I'm gonna get back out there, if you're okay?"

Eric nodded and finished his glass. "I'm better now, hon."

“Okay,” Jack said, and he was gone again.

No one said anything when he came back to the table, though Alexei looked a little worried. They were talking about the upcoming game against New York, and Eric had been studying up enough he managed to contribute decently to the conversation. Jack and Alexei each had extra plum pudding, and they even talked Coach Mashkova into taking some leftovers home.

They called it an early night, and then it was Eric and Alexei again, in an apartment that smelled half like Christmas always had and half like some other life entirely.

"Was good Christmas?" Alexei asked, uncertainly.

Eric nodded, because if he said a single word he'd burst into tears.

"Oh, B," Alexei said, and stepped closer. "I am sorry. It was...I had very nice time. I know it is hard for you."

Eric shook his head, because that wasn't quite it either, but he he didn't know what to say, and Alexei was wrapping his big arms around Eric's shoulders and pulling him close and saying something soft and low, but Eric was crying too hard to hear.

One big hand patted his back, and he just cried and cried and cried. Alexei guided them both to the couch, sat them both down, and held him as he just kept on crying. 

"I'm sorry," he said, when he could finally get the tears under control.

"Do not have to be sorry," Alexei said, very softly. "I am sorry. I should have noticed you--" He waved his hand, in that familiar gesture he had when he was trying to find the right English words. He gave up. "--Should have noticed," he said, instead. "Zimmboni said you should be alone a little while, but afterward--"

"I didn't want you to," Eric said. "I wanted to just...get past it. Have a good time. And we did, didn't we? Just..." He wiped the snot off his face with the back of his hand. "Just caught up with me, I guess, hon."

"Is all right," Alexei repeated. "Is hard to be away from home. I have family, at least. I know I am not--"

"It's not you," Eric protested. "You've been so kind. And this was real nice. We all had a good time. I'm glad we had Jack over, and your mama. If we hadn't done this, I probably would've sulked the whole day long."

"That is no good," Alexei said. "I would not want that. Awful way to spend day off, yes?"

Eric chuckled a little through the snot. Oh, he must look a mess. "Not the best way, no. This was better." He'd be skating a full day again tomorrow, regretting every drop of hard sauce he'd snuck off the spoon, but at least he'd had a day to relax. 

"Ah, and I got you present," Alexei said. 

"I didn't get you--"

"Is not my Christmas," Alexei said. "You stay there. I will bring tissue."

He came back with a small box of Kleenex and a gift bag. "Here. Present."

"You really didn't need to--"

"Do not be silly. Open." He looked excited about the whole thing. Lord, what would he get Alexei when Russian Christmas rolled around? He had a little pin money from some of the wives--he was handy in a pinch when they realized they'd forgotten the next day's bake sale--but nothing that would buy a proper present. Maybe Raelene would have an idea. 

He pulled the tissue paper out of the bag, hoping the weight wasn't what he thought it was going to be."Mama said you would be needing them soon," Alexei said, as Eric revealed the Riedell box. "Told me what size to buy, hope you do not mind. They are yours, yes? Not loan. Just yours."

They were real good boots, a step up from what he'd been skating on, and they had beautifully engraved blades. 

"Oh, honey. You didn't have to--"

"Didn't have to," Alexei said. "Wanted to. Is Christmas spirit, yes? Ho, ho, ho?"

Eric put the box down carefully and gave Alexei another hug. “Thank you," he said. "Just today would've been enough."

"You are going to win," Alexei said. "This might be last pair of skates we have to buy, yes? Sponsors will start lining up."

"Well," he said. "We'll just see about that, I guess."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took a long time; I'm hoping the next chapter won't be too long coming!
> 
> CW: One character has a panic attack this chapter, though I don't linger on it.


	5. New Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orthodox Christmas rolls around.

Eric wondered what to do about Alexei’s Christmas right into the New Year, and Raelene wasn't much help. "Don't you cook for him all the time? I think that's present enough."

"Is that what you tell Beau?"

She rolled her eyes. "Well, I picked him. And I'm not going back to work while the baby’s little. Your work is skatin', and he knows it doesn't make any money."

"It will," he said. "Or I'll stop. But right now, it's barely breakin' even and I don't feel right about spendin’ all his money as it stands. But...I can't not do anything. It's Christmas."

"I guess I couldn't do it either." She put her head on one side. "You could dress up in a cute outfit?"

"Raelene!" His face went hot.

"You could bake him something. Something Russian."

"I bake all the time," Eric grumbled.

"There has to be some elaborate thing you wouldn't normally make, though, like the plum puddin'. Or a Yule log, those are real pretty.”

"I've wanted to make one of those for ages...maybe I could ask his mama."

"I bet she'd know. Does she cook?"

"She cooks some, but she ain't really a baker. Doesn't make a lot of sense for a figure skater to be eatin' pie all the time."

"Well, you should ask her, then. I bet there’s something that ain't easy to get here. Even if he can buy it at a bakery it's not the same."

"I guess it's not," he said. "I'm gonna make jam for everyone on the team. Alexei said he'd spring for the fruit."

"Mama's recipe?"

"You bet." He almost told her not to tell Mama, but he guessed it didn't matter any more. Aunt Judy's recipe was just better, that was all there was to it. "I guess I'll look for some Russian treats, huh? And maybe I could do another ornament or something for the tree. He liked the gingerbread skaters."

"You still haven't sent me a picture."

He walked the phone over to the tree and toured it around. "That's so cute!" she said. "Maybe you could ask his mama what he misses from home, do some ornaments about that." 

"Well, Miss Raelene, I think maybe you're on to something."

The baby made a little whimper in the background. "Now if I can only get this guy to behave," she said. "God, he's never happy lately. He's getting two teeth, can you believe it?"

"I surely can't," Eric said weakly, as Raelene fussed in the background. "Maybe I'll call you back later?"

"Oh, sure, honey. I'll see you later--"

"Bye!" Eric ended the call in a hurry. He loved Raelene, but the baby was too little to be anything but a distraction on the phone. He started Googling Russian Christmas traditions. It was a good idea to ask Coach Mashkova, too. 

Alexei was gone for the two days before the holiday, but he managed to have a home game that night, so they could have Christmas dinner again in the afternoon. 

When Alexei got home, he looked just as pleased to see the tree as he had the first time, and Eric felt that warm satisfaction of making him happy again. It was just that he hadn't had a friend he was close to in so long, that was it. It was good to have someone he could trust around again, and it was natural to respond to that. He was grateful, and he'd been lonely and isolated and frustrated, and his emotional response was just more than he'd gotten used to. He'd had a shield around him for a long time. Even with Allen Castro. He probably would've gotten a crush on his roommate, if he'd made it to college and come out then.

"It is so nice, isn't it?" he said. "I had not had a tree for a long time."

"Well, I'm glad we've got one now," Eric said. "It cheers me up, too. And I picked up a few more ornaments on sale, and a storage box." Lord, Alexei didn’t care about the storage box. He always talked too much when he was nervous.

Alexei noticed the present under the tree just about then. "What is this?"

"It's your Christmas," Eric said. "Or close enough to it, so you need your present now."

"I did not need any present," Alexei said, but Eric heard the excitement in his voice. He could be as enthusiastic as a little kid sometimes. "You do not have to do anything for me, B."

"Oh, don't you worry, hun, I wanted to. It ain't much anyway."

"Should I open now?"

Eric's heart was beating faster. Silly. "Whenever you want to."

Alexei smiled. "All right," he said, and scooped up the package in his big hands. Lord, he had big hands; Eric always forgot when he'd been away a while just how big he was. He pulled the wrapping off the box. "What is--"

"It's like a coupon book," he said. "One special dish from home, once a month. I know there's restaurants here, but...I thought you might like some home-cooked food, and this would be a way of kind of making it special." His face was hot again. "I don't really have a lot right now, and what I've got, it's all 'cause of you. Felt funny spending your own money on your present. So I thought I could give you time."

"Is...is very sweet of you, B." He started going through the book. 

"If you don't like some of them, I can come up with somethin' else that month. I ran some of them by your mama, but--"

Alexei threw his arms around Eric and hugged him so tight his feet came straight off the ground. "So many of my favorites, and from home. I am too lucky, that I have you."

"Well, I've been awful lucky, too, Alexei. I sure hadn't thought--" He just hugged Alexei back. There wasn't anything he could say that would explain it. He was still scared sometimes, and he still didn't know what they'd be doing in a year. But he was grateful that Alexei had been who he was. Lord, he could have been a prisoner in his own home. He might never have gotten on the ice again. 

Alexei had lost weight from the start of the season, and everyone said it'd be more before the finals. And he was still so damn strong. Eric felt like his feet weren't ever going to touch the ground. "Thank you," Alexei said, into his shoulder.

The next day Coach Mashkova had them over to her beautifully decorated apartment, and Eric ate a cautious helping of caviar and blini. It was delicious, and the calories were worth an extra suicide or two. It was snowing a little as they went in, with the promise of more to come, and it made everything feel just right for Christmas.

It was all real nice until Coach started asking about school. He’d been assigned an ocean of catch-up work, and it was mostly done, but Alexei, a born mother hen, started digging into exactly what _mostly_ meant,and by the time they were done eating Coach Mashkova had made him promise to make a spreadsheet for homework the same way he kept track of training and what pie he was planning on making next.

Still, it was nice that they cared.

“We will have to talk about college after this, yes?”

“I may need to focus on skatin’,” Eric said primly, hoping without much confidence that Coach Mashkova would back him up.

“We will see how school year goes,” she said, and Eric felt the relief like a blessing. “Education is important but so is balance.”

"Education is very important," Alexei said. "Can't just be meathead like Alexei."

"Don't talk about yourself like that, honey--"

"Sometimes I think I should have stayed in Russia longer. Would have had more time, could have taken more classes. Mostly since I came here I have learned English." There was a sadness there. He really meant it.

"You travel so much," Eric said. "You can always go to college after you retire. You've got your high school diploma, right?" With the way Coach Mashkova had insisted Eric get his, he couldn't imagine her relaxing her standards for her son.

Coach Mashkova nodded. "His grades were excellent, for the most part. He struggled in foreign languages."

Eric looked over at Alexei, who shrugged. 

"It is the curse of being an athlete, that you know your career might end at any time, so you have to prepare. The gift is that many people don't realize this. We have always known. I prepared to coach with the help of my own coach, Tatiana Svetlova."

"I remember her," Alexei said.

"She was a legend, and she never stopped supporting me. Even when we were both competing for students, she was my ally, and we would work together when our students were struggling. Once in a while, we sent each other students who were not good matches." She took a sip of her tea. "Of course, not everyone is so fortunate. But Alyoshen'ka I can see coaching, too. Working with college students, perhaps."

"Maybe then I would get degree," Alexei said. "As long as--" He tapped the side of his head with his knuckles. "We will see how many times my head is cracked open, yes?"

That was a scary thought. Sometimes, when Eric's mood got dark, he'd read stories of men with CTE, of how their personalities changed, how they got meaner and more violent. He wondered if there would be signs, or if one day Alexei would just smash one of his big fists into Eric's head when he was putting together a pie filling. Wondered how he'd react, knowing that it wasn't the Alexei he knew, just a thousand tiny injuries to his brain making themselves known.

He would remind himself that there were plenty of athletes who didn't have that darkness, who got through their NHL careers with no more than the aches and pains you'd expect of years on the ice. Sometimes it helped. Most of the time these days he trusted Alexei, one hundred percent. But if Alexei's brain got sick, all that would change.

"I told you," Coach Mashkova said. "Is never too late to switch to ice dancing."

Alexei laughed at that, and it felt like an old joke between them, something that could be relied on to ease the tension. "You have seen me dance, Mama. Was already too late when I was ten."

"You will have to make him dance more often, Eric," she said. "He is a better dancer than he wants you to believe."

They had, once when Alexei had a few nights at home in a row, gone to a dance club, but he hadn't had much success talking Alexei out onto the floor. He'd claimed he was nursing his knee, and maybe he was, but it had still felt funny, dancing on his own, trying not to flirt too much. "Well," he said. "I'll have to keep that in mind. Here he's been tellin' me he has two left feet."

"Even those with two left feet can dance," she said. "And his feet are just fine. I am his mother, I know these things."

Eric chuckled at that.

Alexei pretended to be offended. "Betrayed by my own mother, on Christmas Day. What shame has been brought to our family."

"Oh, does that mean you _can_ dance good, and you're just pretendin' otherwise?"

"There is no refuge for poor Alexei," he mock-whined.

"Oh, don't worry, hon, you can go back to bein' a hockey player tomorrow. You're just stuck with two people tonight who know better than that."

"Plenty of hockey players smarter than me."

"Plenty of figure skaters smarter than me, too."

"There will always be someone smarter than you, faster than you, better than you at one thing or another," Coach Mashkova said. "The choice you can make is--"

"To be the very best me I can be," Eric sighed, as Alexei repeated what was almost certainly the same phrase in Russian. 

Coach Mashkova just smiled, pleased the lesson had stuck.

They got back late, the snow falling outside making everything glitter like decorating sugar. Alexei held the door for him so he could get the packages in, and brushed the snow off his hat and helping him with his scarf. The cold had reddened his cheeks, and there were little crystals of snow on his eyelashes. 

Lord, the man was attractive sometimes.

"Well, Merry Christmas to you, hon," he said. "I hope it was a good one."

"Best in a long time, B," he said, and Eric's heart ached for all the Christmases he'd had to spend alone. "Best in very long time."

Eric told himself it was just holiday sentimentality that made his bed seem so empty, and the sudden snow that made him need the extra blanket.


	6. Many Happy Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spring has sprung, and with it comes Eric's 18th birthday.

They got used to each other, more or less. When Eric was home they didn't really have time to talk, and Eric wasn't sure what they'd say if they did. They were married, and they were in it for another year, almost, and if anything went wrong it was going to be hard. So it was better not to push things, really. He left fresh jars of jam and pies and quiches for Alexei when he was home, and Alexei left beautifully written thank-you notes, with silly, almost unreadable cartoons of flowers and bunnies. Once he put a silly paper hat on Señor Bun, because it had been Valentine's Day, and left a small box of baker's chocolate in his lap, covered in heart stickers.

"Don't be so nice to me, honey,” he said to the empty room. “My heart can't take it."

But Alexei was in Colorado, and Senor Bun just smiled at him. Eric took the chocolate carefully off the little rabbit and hugged him tight, letting himself cry, just a little, for all the people he couldn't call and tell about it.

Not long after that Alexei had two days in a row off, and cornered Eric to actually talk.

"What would you like for your birthday, B?"

Birthday? Oh. It was February already. "I hadn't really thought about it, Alexei, if you want to know the truth."

"Almost eighteen," he said. "Big day. You must think. We could go to restaurant, see movie--should be something special for you."

"Your birthday's comin' too, isn't it?"

"Later," he said. "I am June baby. You should think. I will do something for you, something special, yes?"

"Well, let me think about it," he said. "I...kind of let things get away from me, I guess. Hadn't realized my birthday was coming up so soon." He'd been applying to colleges, though he still wasn't sure if he wanted to go or it was better to take a year off to focus on his skating. The magnet school had sure gone better than back home, but he was never going to be the type to want to sit in a classroom all day. Acceptances should start coming, or rejections. Lord, there were a lot of decisions to make.

Eric went out for a run not long after that, thinking it would clear his head but it really just got him thinking himself in circles.

Eighteen.

Back when he got married, he'd been expecting it to come like liberation; that he'd be ready to throw what little he had into a bag and run like hell, and hope he knew someone well enough or his credit cards would hold long enough to get him somewhere safe.

But if he did that now, it meant giving up this cozy little apartment with its big oven. It meant giving up skating. It meant living alone again, or trying to find roommates, trying to find a safe place and people he could trust all over again. Some of the girls would take him in, he knew that, but they'd think less of Alexei for it, and he'd never wanted to lean on charity. It would mean leaving Alexei alone, his green card uncertain again, no one to pack him sandwiches for practice or make sure he was getting enough protein. He'd lost so much weight over the season Eric found it a little scary.

It wouldn't hurt anything to hang on through graduation. He could talk with Alexei about it then. Maybe there'd be some other answer, someone else who wanted to marry Alexei (hell, who _wouldn't_ want to marry him?), so he could be safe, too.

There must have been something in the air, because Ralene emailed him the next morning.

_Beau and I talked, and we're coming to visit for your birthday. <3 <3 He's got a long weekend so we can just take the car up, let the baby see Providence!  
_

_You don't need to do that, Raelene._ Beau must have had other things he wanted to do with his vacation time than to drive up and see his wife's baby cousin and his assigned husband.

_Well, I want to. We're gonna go see Beau's brother, too, he's stationed up in Newport. Take the baby to see the ocean. So you mark your calendar, we're gonna take you out to dinner, all right?  
_

_All right._ He knew better than to argue too much. The Hill women weren't to be taken lightly.

He was avoiding his Chemistry worksheets when a new email came in from Raelene.

_That Alexei's gonna be fine with us coming, won't he?  
_

_Oh, sure. He was wondering what I wanted for a present anyway. I'll check his schedule and see if they've got a home game._ He'd meant to for a while anyway, and just hadn't gotten around to it. _You should meet him anyway, you've heard so much about him.  
_

_I need to get a look at him in person too 😘😉  
_

_You're TERRIBLE  
_

_😇_

He fussed and fussed over it and finally just sent _My cousin Raelene and her husband want to come over on my birthday. They're visiting his family too.  
_

_Of course! We can show them zoo. Raelene has the baby, yes? Babies like animals. Tell me where you would like supper. I will treat. You have still not said what you want for a present ♥ ♥  
_

_You don't have to take care of dinner, I can cook.  
_

_Not on your birthday, B. And I will get cake._

It hadn't worked out to see a hockey game, but this was nicer anyway, Eric thought. They'd had a good dinner, and Raelene had let him hold the baby for a bit. Now Alexei was playing host, insisting on brewing tea so Eric could sit in the living room and 'catch up with your pretty cousin.'

Raelene's baby was a sweet little thing, her eyes still big and blue. Alexei had cooed and made funny faces and offered to change diapers, and Raelene had let herself be charmed. Beau was a lot more guarded, but he was still awful sweet to Raelene, and he was good with the baby, too.

"I'm so glad you're here."

"Well, we had to drive through for the weddin' anyway, and I wanted to see how you were doin', so it worked out pretty good, with your birthday bein' tomorrow and all."

They'd brought him some things from home for his present; a big jar of peanuts and the right kinds of chocolate, proper pimento cheese, for once. And a precious jar of his gramma’s peach jam. "How is she doin'?"

"All right," Raelene said. "I wish she'd see sense, but..." She sighed. "How's your other grandma?"

"Aw, she's tough as nails," he said. "Still hoppin' mad over what happened." MooMaw would've raised hell to stop the wedding if she could have. Eric wasn't sure she'd ever speak to Coach again, and from all accounts every call with Mama started with _have you gotten that grandson of mine home yet?_ "But I talk to her every week and I try to remember to write." It was getting harder, now that he had so much more to do. "She's got some ideas for my costumes this season. I'm not sure Coach Mashkova's gonna approve, but I promised to run them by her."

"Your grandma, she likes the old skaters, yes? Dick Button."

"Lord, if I skated a tribute to Dick Button, she'd be pleased as punch."

"Oh, Mama still likes him," Raelene said. "She says it's a crime that he ever stopped skating. She hasn't liked the newer skaters for a while, she says they're all flash."

"Well, Coach Mashkova doesn't believe in flash," Eric said wryly. "I need a quad, but that's just the scoring. She says that 'the ISU ignores the artistry of skating at their peril.'"

"Mama is great believer in artistry," Alexei said. "And you are beautiful skater, B. Once you have quad settled--" He gestured, wide, expansive. "No stopping Eric Bittle."

Beau chuckled, and Eric couldn't tell if it was a compliment or a crack. Beau had always been polite enough, but there was no way he'd cross Raelene, and Eric could never be too sure what he was thinking.

"Well, it won't be for lack of tryin', anyway."

"You work very hard," Alexei agreed, and Eric was just about to start blushing when Alexei's eyes went wide. "Eric. I am forgetting your cake!"

"Lord, you didn't need to get me cake." He'd paid for dinner, and it sure hadn't been cheap.

"But I did. Is at shop. You talk, I will get." He looked at his watch. "Twenty minutes, thirty? I will let you know when I head back." He'd thrown on his jacket and thundered out the door before Eric could even object.

"He can be fast when he wants to," Eric said weakly, in his wake. "You can't tell so much, on TV. But he's fast."

"Dickie," Beau said, very seriously, his voice quiet. "Is this okay? Do you want to go? Because he said half an hour. We could get you over the state line in half an hour. Not far from there to Canada."

Eric and Raelene thought that over for a second.

"You think he did it on purpose?" Raelene said.

 _He said he was going to text before he headed back_. "I think he did," Eric said.

"You'll be eighteen tomorrow," she said. "Beau's right. You want to go, you can go. But--do you want to?"

"I don't know, honey," he said. Everything he’d been thinking in the past month ran through his head again. "He's been awful sweet to me, and if I run off, it's harder for him to keep his green card." He looked down at his hands. "He says it's two years, and he'd be all right. That's not so long."

"You're still only eighteen, honey."

"You're twenty-four," Eric protested.

"I am," she said. "But that's why I know. It's longer than you'd think if you're not happy."

"I know," he said. "But I'm skating. And if I run, I lose that all over again. I thought I'd have to give it up, and I missed it."

"It's your call, Dickie," Beau said.

"Thank you," he said. “Genuinely. But...I think I'd better stay. He didn't put me in this mess, and he's tried to help me out. Least I can do is hang in for him. If things change...I think I’ll be okay."

"You can always call us, you know," Raelene said. "And I'm glad it's all right, with him. He seems nice."

"He ain't a bad hockey player," Beau said. "Raelene's made us watch some of his games."

"He's like a stone wall, only he hits people," Raelene said. "Made me--you sure he's good to you?"

"I don't think he'd hurt a fly off the ice," Eric said, honestly. "His teammates like him a lot, too."

"Look, the second you don't feel safe, you call us, all right?"

"You got my promise, Raelene," he said. "Thank you. Thank you both. For everything, all right? And you don't be strangers. I wanna see little Sara growin' up."

"You don't worry about that, darlin'," she said. "And I'll tell your grandma how you're doin' if I see her, all right?"

"That'd be awful kind of you."

Alexei came back with a cake, just a little one, because 'I know you are worried about weight, with skating.' It was enough for all of them to have a slice, and Alexei was hearty and friendly, but just a little less so than when he'd left. _He was nervous,_ Eric thought. _He thought I might leave._

Raelene and Beau had decided not to stay overnight--they had too much road they wanted to eat up--so they saw them off after the cake, Eric walking them down to the front door.

"You take care, Dicky Bittle," Raelene said, pulling him back in for one last giant hug.

"You take care of yourself, too, Miss Raelene."

"Ain't that Missus Raelene?"

"She'll always be Miss Ralene to me," Eric said, giving her a final squeeze before they let go. "You both drive safe."

"Don't worry," Beau said, swinging the baby carrier. "I got this."

Eric felt awfully alone as he climbed the stairs back up to the apartment. He'd chosen. He'd chosen skating, and safety, of sorts, but--

A little part of him wanted to be in that little broken-down Chevy with Beau and Raelene, driving to somewhere else. But it wouldn't be the right kind of freedom. And Alexei--

Alexei was too kind for Eric to want to hurt, even if his safety hadn't been at stake.

He opened the apartment door, and Alexei was washing dishes. He was humming something to himself, his hips swaying a little to music only he could hear. His shoulders were stretching out the thin t-shirt he was wearing.

For a second, _want_ hit Eric straight in the gut.

 _I can't have this,_ he thought. _We can't._

"Thanks again," he said. "This was awful nice of you."

"Your cousin is very nice," he said. "And the baby. I like babies."

"Me too." It would take so little, just so little, to walk over to him, put his arm around Alexei's waist. Like a normal couple who'd had a nice evening with family. Like this was real, and there wasn't a ticking clock on it all. "You want kids?"

"Someday? Is hard to think that far ahead right now. A long time I thought I could--I thought maybe, I fall for girl, it all be easy. And then that picture comes out, everyone thinks, 'oh, Mashkov is gay,' and I am...you know. I am not thinking about my future...not like that." He put the towel back. "What about you? Did you want babies?"

"I always--I knew. All along. I liked men, not girls. And I knew that if I stayed where I was...that was never going to happen. So I thought, if I kept skatin', I'd get out of Georgia and I'd be okay. And then I lost that, and--I don't know. I guess I was in the same place as you were. Just tryin' to get by. And...I don't know, now."

"Today was all right?"

"It was real nice, Alexei."

"Am glad," Alexei said. "Eighteenth birthday, should be special."

"It was real special," Eric said. "I know this isn’t exactly what we wanted, but I'm awful grateful it ended up bein’ you."

Alexei just smiled, happy, sweet.

With Coach Mashkova's permission, he slept in in the morning, letting the sun wake him. Alexei was already at practice by then, so he whipped up a stack of Oladi that would wait. The season was over and Alexei would be home a lot more often. They'd be really living together, not just strangers passing back and forth between competitions.

He'd be graduating soon. He had colleges waiting, if he wanted to go. This would probably be the most time they'd have together for a long time. They should talk, probably. Figure out what else they had in common. If they even liked each other when they were in the same apartment for more than a day or two.

He kept trying to figure out if it would be better or worse if they did.

He'd wanted this, once. A nice place, not in Georgia any more, with a beautiful kitchen and time to bake. Skating again. A big, handsome husband who wanted to take care of him.

But he didn't know _what_ he wanted any more. Skating, still. Get to the national level next year--Lord, he was so close now--and compete, really compete. Win. What kind of a relationship could you have when you were doing that? And what kind of future could anyone build on _better to marry than burn?_

The pancakes were cooling when Alexei got home. "Did you cook? Smells good."

"I did," he said. "You need a hand?"

"Am fine," he said, walking through the door and kicking it shut behind him. There was a big gift-wrapped box in his hands. "We have time for you to open before we eat?"

Eric got up. "You got me something?"

"Is your birthday present," he said, looking a little embarrassed. "I did not want to give while your family was here."

"In case I ran off with them?"

He looked even more embarrassed then. "I thought--I did not want to bribe you. Sounds silly, now. But..."

Oh. Well. Well, that was kind of sweet, now, wasn't it. Eric ripped the paper off the box. For a second, he wasn't sure what he was looking at, if it was really real. "Oh, honey," he said. "You don't--you didn't have to do this." It was a KitchenAid, bigger than Mama's, with the scale and sifter attachment, besides. "You didn't have to do this much."

"I am big NHL player. You are going to get endorsements, make money, but too soon now. You make so many pies, I thought you would like, and I eat the pies, so it is not like it is not for me, too." He looked down at the mixer. "I am glad you are here, Eric. I know it is not what you wanted."

"You're so sweet," Eric said. "I--it's one of the nicest presents I've ever had."

"All yours," Alexei said. "If you want, we can go to market, yes?"

"Oh, don't tempt me, Alexei Mashkov."

"Come on, my treat," he said. "Surprise me with something you like to make, yes?"

"I'll make you something too," he said.

"It is your birthday."

"I celebrated that yesterday," he said. "And you know how I love to bake, honey. I'll make you some pirozhki, and you can pick out the filling, all right?"

"I suppose I cannot say no to that," he said. "But I like the things you make from America, too."

 _I wonder what it would have been like if we'd met another way,_ Eric thought. Maybe they would've--

Things would've been different.

"You make your list," Alexei said, and patted Eric on the shoulder, gently. "We will go shopping after breakfast, yes?"

Oh, Lord, he was _patting Eric on the shoulder_ to be respectful. This man was going to be the death of him. "Thank you," he said, and hugged Alexei, who was a little startled, but went along quickly enough, putting his arms around Eric and pulling him close for a second. "Thank you so much. You've always made me feel so welcome."

"You are welcome," Alexei said. "I am glad to have you here. Is nice to have someone to come home to. You bake good food. Make me smile."

 _I like making you smile,_ he wanted to say, but maybe that was saying too much. He knew he was lucky, so lucky to have someone who cared about him, who'd brought him back to skating. Alexei was so generous, his heart as big as everything else about him.

He felt guilty, sometimes, and he didn't even know what what he felt guilty for. Maybe it was that he kept those numbers, and it was because he went to lunch with the girls sometimes, but it was also just to have them on hand if anything went wrong.

But it was his birthday celebration. He could relax, at least for one day.

After they ate, Alexei excused himself to the living room and let Eric set up the mixer. It was beautiful, a bright turquoise called Ocean Drive that stood out like a jewel on the simple granite countertop. He put it next to the samovar, even though they didn't quite match; that way he could get tea ready while he was working on his crusts.

The list didn't take a wink, and Alexei offered to drive, and since he'd bought the mixer, Eric let him, even though it was always a little nerve-wracking to have Alexei at the wheel. Thirdy had said it was a Russian driver thing, and that just made Eric happy that Coach Mashkova didn't drive. But he was in a good mood, and so was Eric, and they turned up the radio and sang along to silly country songs. Alexei liked Reba and Dolly, and while he didn't appreciate Bey the way Eric did, no one was perfect.

Eric wondered if Alexei would've looked at him twice, if they'd met somewhere else. If they even would have met. If he would've kept thinking of Alexei as a jock, or a he would've--

It didn't matter.

Alexei loved Istanbul Gourmet Market, and the winter farmer’s market on the way was open, so they shopped for a while. Usually it was all Eric could do to stop himself from getting carried away, but today, with Alexei egging him on, he bought extra of everything, the fancy rye flour he'd been eyeing, even some pretty little figs. "You like figs?"

"Figs are nice," he said. "Always liked figs. You have idea?"

"I think I do," he said, and it was fun to be plotting things with someone again.

He sent his cousin a photo of the mixer. _My birthday present!!_

_That man is a keeper._

Eric thought about it as he rolled out the dough. What would it be like, to have Alexei as his real husband? To stay, even after the two years were up? They were in different directions all the time now, but--

Maybe.

Allen Castro sent him a birthday card, from Mississippi. It had a big ugly cross on the front, and was signed _your friend in Christ._ Bitty wanted to throw up.

"All right? You look like pie has gone moldy."

"Just--" He waved the card in Alexei's direction. "We got caught together. He went to find Jesus."

Alexei caught sight of the big cross. "Ah," he said. "He found him?"

"He says he did, who knows. I don't--" He grabbed the card and ripped it in half. "I'm not about to take on a pen pal who thinks I belong in Hell."

"Good plan," Alexei said. "You have homework tonight? We could watch a movie. Go out, even."

He had a stack of homework he didn't want to do. "Maybe a quick one," he said. "What's playing?"

"New action movie, Keanu Reeves. Lots of people getting shot. Or superhero movie, lots of punching. Comedy, but sometimes they are still hard for me to follow without--" He paused for a second, searching--"Captions, that is the word. They talk very fast in comedies. And I cannot ask for them to say twice."

"Your English has gotten a lot better," he said. "Since you came here."

"Thank you," he said. "But I am still not...fast, sometimes."

"Slow and steady wins the race, hon." He smiled. "Speaking of, I've got stew in the crock pot for when you get hungry. I've got ice time and then rehearsal, so--not before seven, anyway."

"I will be fine, Eric. I even ate all by myself before you moved here."

"I've been told, but I'm not sure I believe it." He shoved the last of the shredded card in the disposal. "Anyway, you help yourself. I'd rather see the punching than the shooting, so you just figure out what time we should go, all right?"

"All right," Alexei said. "You will have to tell me your programs, soon. I want to see."

"Your mama and I have to decide on them first," Eric said, and threw on his jacket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would promise the next chapter won't take so long, but...well. No promises. I _do_ promise to turn up the heat a little next time, though.

**Author's Note:**

> I will be the first to confess that I mostly have tweaked an alternate US to suit the plot. Any resemblance to actual US politics, USFSA/IOC rules, and how the NHL actually works is probably coincidental. This was also begun before Year 4 began in the regular comic so the Bittles are also somewhat tweaked to suit the setting. Somewhat.
> 
> Some other familiar faces will show up as the story continues but the major pairing is what it says on the box.


End file.
